


art's beauty

by izumidos



Series: Hinata Rare Pair Week 2 [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: >.>, Boys In Love, Kissing, M/M, My First Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Other, Praise Kink, Prompt Art, Smut, and like experiment with smut, look this is just an excuse for me to write artsy smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:43:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izumidos/pseuds/izumidos
Summary: Art comes in many forms, and all of them are beautiful.





	

**Author's Note:**

> fuck man this is the closest and first thing ive written that can br considered actual smut
> 
> i hate this sm tbh, but what can you do shrug; next time will be better hopefully

Hinata meets Kuroo and Bokuto when he’s 25 and fairly successful as an artist.

 

They’re not at fancy gala, not by any means, but Hinata can sense the wealth and fame in the air as every well-known artist he could list came through the entrance doors; he wants to say he’s not surprised at the unintentional gathering of some of the most elite, but he still can’t bite at his lower lip, underestimating how much more connections and fame Kageyama had truly possessed.

 

He’s not envious or anything, he really isn’t, considering the type of subjects he expressed and the mediums he created in needed a fair bit of secrecy at times. His eyes catch the back of Kageyama’s head, and he mentally apologizes for his best friend having to deal with constant attention; even so, he still couldn’t resist saying a small prayer of thanks to some force out there that had left him with minimal fame.

 

He starts to make his way to his best friend to provide some sort of support only to end up with two, gigantic bodies blocking his path, and an unintentional bump into them. Hinata opens his mouth to excuse himself — and maybe them too—, but he finds his words being caught in his throat as the taller one turns around, presence looking even bigger and more intimidating.

 

Wild, black bedhead hair greeted him, slanted golden eyes piercing him and his soul. Tattoos ran up and down everywhere on his exposed skin, the vibrant colors and jet black a startling contrast against the light canvas; Hinata finds that he doesn’t mind the high contrast, not when the beauty of his tattoos on the also gorgeous man is so captivating and distracting.

 

The man’s mouth quirked into a lazy smirk, the slightest hint of sharp canines peeking out for a moment, before he apologizes, nudging the other male next to him to do the same.

 

Whereas the tall male was muscular yet slender, looking as graceful as a feline, the shorter one was muscular and broad like a grizzly bear. His hair is dyed in alternate colors, the black and white locks spiked backwards, all stray hairs gone from over-gelled  hair; yet it wasn’t the hair that took Hinata’s breath away, instead it was molent, golden-amber of the bear’s wide eyes, as if there was a fire constantly burning behind it.

 

The bear apologizes, voice as loud and exuberant as his hairstyle; it garners the attention of the other attenders, but they all look away the moment they catch sight of the two taller males’ eccentric appearance. Hinata laughs softly at the grumbling of the wild-hearted one, the cat-like male just patting him comfortingly for a moment.

 

They all share a short conversation, still a little too awkward and still a little new, but a conversation nonetheless; Hinata goes home with a confused Kageyama asking about about the smile on his face and his phone weighing 2 contacts heavier.

 

\--

 

Hinata is an artist in both the traditional sense and not, but as he looks over at Kuroo and Bokuto, he realizes that art is in much more that what he was taught.

 

There is art in the obvious, like in the careful strokes and splashes of colors of the pictures that littered Kuroo’s skin, or in the music and carefully planned choreography of Bokuto’s; but when he’s alone without anyone to see him flush, Hinata likes to think that Kuroo and Bokuto are actually art themselves.

 

But there’s art in the smallest, oddest of things. Like in each second that was filled with the whirring of the pen, in each bold here in a black as dark as india ink, and even in the nearly silent form of Kuroo’s as he carefully drew out the tattoo on each client’s skin. He thinks he forgets to breath for a moment Kuroo gets like that; there was something about how he was so precise and intense that leaves him breathless.

 

Then there was Bokuto, his body holding as much art as his own choreographies. With all of the sharp edges, soft planes, and the muscular build, he would make any Roman statue crumble in dust; and somehow, when sweat pours down his naked body, each muscle flexing and rippling with power, Hinata feels himself get hazy. Bokuto was also beautiful in his own, wild way.

 

Hinata looks at himself in the mirror after a shower one day, and frowns; he ends up painting in dark colors all day, only stopping when it’s night outside and he’s run out of paint to distract himself with.

 

\--

  
  


Hinata realizes in love with both Bokuto and Kuroo when he’s 27, only a bit farther into his own hell of self-hatred and self-confidence issues, but still worshipping the art that breathed with him; it’s in the bedroom when the audience becomes the sculpture, the painting, or just a prized piece in general.

 

He finds himself whimpering, unused to the feel of warm hands exploring all of the skin of his naked self, and the soft voice cooing about how he was  _ ‘such a good boy, so good just for us _ . _ ’  _ He pulls himself closer to Bokuto’s chest coming flushed with his, and Kuroo’s own chest pressing against his back, both pairs of hands continuing their slow, slow movement.

 

Hinata is the only one mostly naked, his skin buzzing with suppressed electricity from all of the years he had rejected his own self; even the smallest movement of against the rough texture of the jeans makes him weak, imagining how it would feel against his lonely cock, straining against his boxers.

 

He wraps his arms around Bokuto’s, pushing his face into the nape of his neck as his clothed shaft became flush with the bear like male’s stomach; he can feel the smile on Bokuto lips and hears his amused self. he tries to rut there, hips about to move only to be grasped by one of Kuroo’s large hands, and he whines. The other one snaked up his neck and tilted the orange-haired male’s head back, locking them in a soft kiss with his finger caressing his cheek.

 

It’s suddenly far too intimate for Hinata, so he shuts his eyes, only to whimper again at the now amplified touch. He sobs into the kiss when he can feel warm breath washing over his neck, Bokuto whispering about his beauty into his skin, as if it would take it in without hesitation and let Hinata love his appearance.

 

Kuroo pulls away, and moves his head to leave a trail of butterfly kisses on his skin; they’re soft and fluttering, lips only on his skin for moments. But it shifts into something more when he reaches Hinata’s collarbones, sharp canine grazing his flesh, and mouth finally sucking to leave the first of the bruises.

 

Bokuto murmurs and murmurs about how his skin was so soft and smooth, pliant under their hands; his hair wild and bright as the excited look in his eyes or anything that related to matters of the heart; and how everything about him exuded beauty, as if he was the real Aphrodite hidden just so only Kuroo and Bokuto could love him.

 

He sobs again when a hand slips down his underwear, grasping his leaking cock for a single moment, as the marks on his skin keep blossoming, like splatters of paint against a clean canvas; Hinata about begs for them to do something more, whining as a canine dug into a marked piece of his skin.

 

Then he feels himself being pushed down, laying on top of Kuroo’s chest, and Bokuto’s own suddenly pressing over his tiny body; he hears the loud clattering of items as the older male tried to look for something in the drawer, but all he could think about was the friction of the jeans against his cock.

 

He gets what he wants, though, and he gasps, shivering at the cold feeling of lube being wrapped around his cock and the callousness of the hand that engulfed him whole; he moans at the slickness of it, the slow pumping of the hand, and at his ever approaching heat.

 

Bokuto buries his face in Hinata’s neck again, and Kuroo coos at Hinata’s noises.

 

_ “Hinata has been so, so good for us. Such a beautiful canvas to leave our artwork on, even all of the masterpieces in the Louvre could never compare to this.” _

 

_ \-- _

 

Hinata realizes once more that there is beauty and art in the tiniest things; from the creaking of the bed, to the muffled pants and moans, and to the feeling of heat overcoming him and everyone else, their voices a harmonious symphony.

 

Bokuto and Kuroo learn to appreciate the sight of their beautiful artwork, the once blank canvas now covered with purple bruises, reds marks, and the white of cum splattered over his stomach and his face.

  
The duo smile at each other, wrapping Hinata tightly in between them, like a fragile statue, and head to sleep, the idea of beauty in art of any form more apparent than ever.


End file.
